<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>let me make you proud (reprise) by sky_blue_hightops</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25800889">let me make you proud (reprise)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops'>sky_blue_hightops</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sun and Moon AU [21]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst, Brother Feels, Gen, Moon Powers Varian (Disney), Team Awesome (Disney: Tangled), Varian Needs a Hug (Disney), hes sad its literally just him sad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:21:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25800889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The rocks glow under his feet, bright, and it’s the only light he sees.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider &amp; Ruddiger, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider &amp; Ruddiger &amp; Varian, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider &amp; Varian, Ruddiger &amp; Varian (Disney)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sun and Moon AU [21]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>132</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>let me make you proud (reprise)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rocks glow under his feet, bright, and it’s the only light he sees.</p><p>He hasn’t had time to strip the blood from his hands (can’t stomach looking down at them, thinking about the way the dried red flakes off and falls away, <em>away</em>) and he clenches them into fists. It’s too quiet. He expected his thoughts to race faster than he can keep up - but it’s too quiet. He barely thinks at all. Nothing sinks in, not the cold midnight air, not the bruises from earlier, not the lightness of his shoulders because of Ruddiger’s absence.</p><p>He doesn’t know where his friend ran off to, and he thinks it’s for the best. He wouldn’t want Ruddiger to see him like this, if he wasn’t so blinded by anger. He would - he would scare Ruddiger, if the raccoon were here now. He’d scare anyone he comes across.</p><p><em>Good,</em> part of him smiles, the part deep down that <em>hurts</em>, the part deep down that wants to cause hurt, <em>isn’t it time you were in control?</em></p><p>This doesn’t feel like control. He burns like fuel, his heart a raging ember in his chest, consumed and eaten away. This feels like losing himself.</p><p>It’s dangerous. It’s all sharp edges, broken pieces that tear into anything soft he has left. It’s pain in places he’ll never be able to reach, not with his trembling and dirty hands; places that might never heal at all, and he pushes and pushes at it until he has nothing else to hold. He <em>hopes</em> he’s terrifying. He hopes whoever he finds can see the agony written across his face and understand that he has no choice. There’s no other way to resolve what happened to him four nights ago, a dizzying blur, sharp heartbreak. There is no coming back from what he’s done, and standing over that pit in his chest, he finds he does not want to step away from the edge.</p><p>Varian growls and flexes his fist, and rocks sprout at his will. They stab upwards, shooting through grass and rising higher and higher until they break the tree canopy. Starlight twinkles down on him, faintly, and he <em>pushes</em>. The rocks criss-cross, blocking out the sky. They tear through bark and soft wood, through leaves and the gentle breeze, and bits of nature drift quietly to the ground around his feet.</p><p><em>“Eugene,” he mumbles tiredly. His brother’s hand rests on his head, elbow prodding his shoulder, and Varian shoves uselessly at it. He’s accepted that he’ll never win when they wrestle; besides, it’s not like he </em>wants<em> to move. “Why do the stars shine?”</em></p><p><em>He can feel against his cheek how Eugene hums thoughtfully. They’re sitting together against a tree, half-asleep in the dark with nothing but the sky as a cover, Ruddiger sprawled across their laps. They’ve been walking for </em>days<em>, only resting when it’s too dark to see, and Eugene insists they’re close to Corona. A new life, he boasts. A place where they can be together and not have to worry nearly as much as they did in Vardaros, or in...well. Before.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Once upon a time,” Eugene begins, voice raising. He swipes his free hand out, fingers spread as if to convey the grandeur of his fairy tale, face open and light and free. “There was just one star in the entire universe. It was so alone, and the whole world was very dark around it. That star thought it would never be able to move on, and it would be stuck in the night forever. But,” and he taps Varian’s nose, grinning, “one day, there was another star, and it was so dim at first. The first one could only barely see it, way off in the distance! And the first one shined brighter, wanting to be seen, wanting to see the second one come alive.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Varian cranes his head to watch the faces his brother pulls, to see the seriousness that flickers there for a heartbeat. “And they both shone so brightly together. Nothing could put that out, so long as they could see each other. There were more stars, after a while. They all burn up and give off light. They’re so far apart, miles and miles, but if they can see the starlight, they know they’ll never be alone.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Varian can’t help a quiet laugh. “I meant scientifically.”</em>
</p><p><em>“Nerd,” Eugene replies, teasing, and knuckles his hair. “But it’s a nice tale, isn’t it? I make a </em>fantastic<em> storyteller.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, it is.” And he breathes out slowly before inhaling, the rush of cool air sweet in his lungs. This moment, he decides. This is the one he wants to hold forever.</em>
</p><p>The rocks slot into place above him, an impenetrable canopy. The rocks glow under his feet, under his hands.</p><p>It is the only light he sees.</p><p>He takes the walk towards town slowly. He has no certain plan in mind, just goals and targets, but that’s all he needs. If this were one of his experiments, he’d insist on a formulated procedure, on meticulous methods, but this is far beyond his understanding of how materials make up the world. This is his magic against those who’ve wronged him. This is his fury against the thrum of their blood.</p><p>The Stabbingtons are at the forefront of his mind. They’ll hurt with everything they have. He’ll stain his hands anew with them, keep his fingers warm when they’ve gone cold. He’ll keep his promise, he knows this, and his own words ring in his ears. <em>I’ll kill you!</em> He’d yelled. He’d meant it.</p><p>But he has to find them, first. If he searches the town and hasn’t been taken in (or down, but the difference is negligible) yet, they will be his main goal. Only secondary to that is making all of Corona pay. He’ll walk the streets he’d run just days ago, but he won’t stand and knock, not this time. This time he takes what he wants. He opens the doors that slammed in his face. Varian pushes through the undergrowth, and in the distance, the shapes of houses loom against the horizon.</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, kiddo, look!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Varian spins away from the tree (the bark held an unusual pattern; perhaps some kind of rot, or maybe a species growing a long way from its origin) to find Eugene pointing towards the sunrise. If he squints, he can make out buildings and - “We made it!” he shouts. Corona, finally. “No more walking,” he sing-songs, wiggling around in a happy dance and bounding to a stop at Eugene’s side. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eugene snorts, batting away Ruddiger’s tail from where it wags across his face. “Took us long enough,” he complains. “I think my shoes have become one with my feet.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The walk down the slope is brief, and Varian steps quickly to keep up with Eugene’s longer strides. “How did you know to come here?” He asks. He gets a simple shrug in reply.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I read about it, in a book. It sounded nice. Corona, the Kingdom of Light.” There’s more to the story than that, but Varian knows when not to press. “Besides, yellow’s my color. Where else are you going to find more yellow than in a kingdom literally themed off the sun?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He can’t really argue with that logic. And there’s something so soft and hopeful about the city before them, still mostly hazy shapes on the horizon. Maybe this place is somewhere they can stay?</em>
</p><p>He’s close, now. Close enough to smell chimney smoke and hear a child’s wild laughter. It’s the time of year when most evenings are spent inside, with the windows ajar to let the air flow, and it’s through these openings into safe, happy lives that he feels the sounds and smells of homes like he never had.</p><p>They’d tried to build a home here. They’d found a life here, on the outskirts of the city streets, based on stealing and borrowing and odd jobs, but a life nonetheless. They’d tried so hard to make it their own, him and Eugene. All that work, all that time and effort, and he’d <em>still </em>give it all away in a heartbeat to get his brother back.</p><p><em>Varian smothers a laugh at the look of sheer </em>concentration <em>on Eugene’s face. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, y’know.”</em></p><p>
  <em>Eugene scowls up at him in the bright afternoon sunshine, yellow paint across the bridge of his nose and knuckles. He’s done his very best to paint a Coronan sun on the front of Varian’s purple shirt, and it looks (remarkably, for Eugene) like the flags in the town square they hadn’t had the money for. Varian doesn’t know where the paint came from, and feels it best to not ask. “Hey, c’mon, I’m trying my best here,” Eugene snarks back, all false confidence, before sighing. “I wanted to make this first festival something to remember. Something that’s for us, for here. Does that make sense?” </em>
</p><p><em>Varian remembers the wonder on Eugene’s face when they’d initially stepped into Corona weeks ago, and thinks it does. He’d want to find every way to make that wonder come back and keep it alive. “It’s gonna be great, even </em>if <em>that ray’s a little wobbly.” Varian can’t keep the fondness from his voice. “Don’t worry. I love it!”</em></p><p>
  <em>The relief on Eugene’s face warms his chest.</em>
</p><p>The paint’s faded since then, the outline of the sun fuzzy and dim. He realizes, in a faint, numb horror, there will be no repainting it; it wouldn’t be the same. How many days until it’s faded so far it’s gone? How many little pieces of the life he loved (of <em>Eugene</em>) will he never be able to get back? How long until all of it slips through his fingers for good?</p><p>The horror twists into fear, guilt, and it spirals back into the ever-consuming anger. He won’t get his little pieces back. He won’t ever get the <em>whole </em>back. He thinks of the dirty cup Eugene left out in their camp, his blankets sprawled messily next to Varian’s, his hairbrush tucked haphazardly into his pack. Varian thinks he believes in ghosts, if they are the pain in the remains left behind. In the shadows and the fragments of a sudden exit.</p><p>It’s not <em>fair</em>.</p><p>He could move the stars and the moon, if he wanted. He could shake the earth. He could pull and pull until the entire universe has been knocked out of orbit, because he knows how that feels (<em>what does he orbit now? where could he possibly go from here, except to burn and burn and never have anyone shine in return?</em>) and he wants for someone else to feel this horrible, wrenching <em>loss </em>just the same as he does. He wants them to see both the small, shattered boy kneeling on the ground and the one standing and holding their very lives in his palms -</p><p>and he wants them to <em>regret</em>.</p><p>Above his head, with no warning, lanterns begin to float by. Their movement is peaceful, unburdened, and their soft light illuminates the horizon like the sun dawning. There’s too many to count, a mass of paper and flame, pink and yellow, bobbing in the wind. They used to enchant him; he recalls watching in awe as a small child, releasing one of his own with Eugene. Now they are a reminder of the lengths the people of this country will go for a princess who most likely died long ago, and the lengths they refused to go for his own brother, bleeding out in the dark.</p><p>Maybe somewhere out there, a princess is gazing upon their light and feeling less alone. But the only light that could ever matter to him is gone, and <em>it’s not fair.</em></p><p>Varian snarls and digs into the dirt like he did hours ago, and calls back the stones’ song. It echoes in his bones, or maybe his bones are the black rocks, maybe he is cut down and bared and blazing under the moon, maybe he’s finally reached what he couldn’t for so long. Maybe he will burn himself up, now. Maybe he has no one left to shine for.</p><p>He thinks of the everything he’s lost, and the nothing he has to lose, digs his nails into his palms, and steps forwards onto the streets. He’ll take from them what they took from him. He’ll tear down this whole country if that’s what it takes to make them <em>pay</em>.</p><p>He can’t control the rage driving him.</p><p>And he stands in the dark, path lit by the rocks that used to cage him, set free by the powers he spent his childhood outrunning, and thinks <em>but</em> <em>finally, they won’t be able to control <strong>him</strong></em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>and we return to the boy!! it's been long enough, methinks. ive had this sitting for like a week and a half we just had to bridge some plot stuff first</p><p>what better way to get up to date with his side of the story than with a lil angst hm?</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>